“The
writer, I think he was English, confessed to the hunchback how hard
it was for him to write. All I can come up with are stray sentences,
he said, maybe because reality seems to me like a swarm of stray
sentences. Desolation must be something like that, said the
hunchback.”

9.20.2012

Miami is a foreign country
you walk seventeen blocks to find a sandwich
you float thirty stories up and it's all rooftops
reflective glass, mayhem
glimpses of the ocean, a view of the port
in the evening the sky catches fire
down below the taxis are screaming
and the patios have dress codes.